


there will be days and nights like paradise

by zhujungjungting (runswithchopsticks)



Series: i've waited, i've waited for the sun to rise [2]
Category: NU'EST, Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: (spoiler) -------------- disability, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Gen, M/M, Post-War, mildly graphic blood and wounds, small mentions of self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11458608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runswithchopsticks/pseuds/zhujungjungting
Summary: "He was a man that had gone through some adversary in the world, but he had managed to survive it."(a continuation ofthe gunshot (in my heart) goes bang)





	there will be days and nights like paradise

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! thank you for clicking on this fic. if you've read the prequel to this, thanks! if not, i would recommend you read it, but there's not a lot of prior knowledge you need, so feel free to proceed on! anyways, please enjoy the story. <3
> 
> music: gain - paradise lost

_start._

* * *

"Anything new this week you like?" Yixuan asks, having finished loading up all of the books onto the cart in front of him.

"Well," Jonghyun begins, walking over to the cart. He tilts his head, sorting through the book spines with his eyes, until he finds the title he's looking for. "I haven't really gotten the time to read these past few weeks since I've been helping the kids prepare for their quarterly examination. But this one was nice." He pulls out the book in question, handing it over to his coworker.

Yixuan raises an eyebrow as he reads the summary on the back of the book.

"Don't laugh at me, _ge_ ," Jonghyun coughs.

But Yixuan smiles quietly. "' _Maybe he and his friends weren't meant to be in this vicious, soul-eating industry, maybe music should've taken them somewhere else besides the path to the life of an idol. But if they had all never chosen this path, then they would all have never met, and therefore they would have all never been given this second chance_ ,'" he reads, before looking up at Jonghyun. "It's been a long time since we had anything like a music industry, hasn't it?" he asks, an almost nostalgic look appearing on his face.

Jonghyun smiles back. "It has," he replies, softly.

Yixuan nods once, placing the book in his hand onto the counter next to him. "I'll save this for later. Thanks, Shao'an," he says. "I'll get back to stocking now." Yixuan turns around, proceeding to push his cart around the counter. Jonghyun watches him stop at the first aisle of books and begin to realign the titles already there, before pushing them over and making space for the new additions in his cart.

The bell at the door jingles, and Jonghyun looks up. He raises his eyebrows, but quickly neutralizes his expression when the man standing at the door looks in his direction.

It's a little bit odd, Jonghyun thinks. The store does not receive many customers, but on the occasion that they did it was always either a student, characterized by their uniform and backpack, or an older and more weathered-looking person looking for a story to relive the glories of the past in order to stave away the desolation and dullness of their lives in the new world.

So Jonghyun is mildly surprised when the man who walks in does not fit either description. A dark green wool trench coat rests on his shoulders. His khaki trousers fit him perfectly, not too long, too short, or too baggy, and the material of his shoes shine, as if they were recently polished. Black gloves cover his hands. He is dressed like someone that knows how to take care of himself, which is a very rare occurrence nowadays.

But what shocks Jonghyun the most is his face. He cannot see most of the man's features as his forehead is hidden by a hat and his mouth and nose by a mask. Yet there are no crinkles near his eyes and his gaze when he stares at Jonghyun is not dull nor bright. It not only gives away the fact that he is neither young nor old, but also that he is a man who has been exposed to something adverse in the world and has managed to survive it.

" _Nin hao, xiansheng,_ how may I help you?" Jonghyun asks. He steps out from behind the counter and approaches the man.

"Do you happen to have _Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms_?" the man asks.

There's something about the man's voice that sends Jonghyun reeling. He has an accent, his voice quite neutral and leveled, nothing unique that stands out against the hundreds of other men Jonghyun has spoken with in his life. But there's a certain quality to it, a certain smoothness, a certain way of speaking that Jonghyun recognizes, and for some reason he doesn't know his palms start sweating.

Jonghyun smiles. "Yes," he replies, "Follow me."

He's very intrigued, and so he strikes up a conversation with the stranger as he guides him to the proper bookshelf.

"That's one of my favorite books," Jonghyun says. "Have you read it before?"

"Yes," the man replies. His voice is quiet, muffled by his mask, but loud enough for Jonghyun to hear. "I quite like it as well. One of my friends a long time ago introduced it to me. I haven't read it in some time, though. I thought it'd be a good idea to pick it up again."

"Oh, that's nice," Jonghyun murmurs. That's when it strikes him, so suddenly and forcefully that he feels like he's been hit in the head with a bat. It was a long time ago, a decade ago, he believes, that he handed his long-lost copy of _Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms_ to…

 _No,_ he tells himself. It is not the time to dwell on memories, especially memories he's tried so hard the past few years to throw into the darkest, deepest caves in the back of his mind. _He is dead,_ Jonghyun says in his head. _He is dead, and no amount of wishful thinking could ever bring him back._

It doesn't stop his pulse from racing and his hands from shaking as he pulls out one of the two copies of _Memorabilia_ from the shelf they've stopped in front of. Both of them are tattered, their corners and covers folded and ripped in some areas, but he chooses the less worn copy.

"Here," Jonghyun says, handing the book to the stranger. "Is that all? Can I help with anything else?"

"No," the man says, "I will just buy this."

Jonghyun nods. "Okay. Come with me to the register."

He manually types in the book number and title at the old typing machine at the front counter. The only sound in the air is the loud clicking noises from the machine as Jonghyun hits the buttons. It's something to fill the gaping silence, which brings a slight relief to him as he mentally tries to calm himself and his shaking fingers down. He almost mistypes several times, but the keys on the machine are so old and rusted that they take a certain amount of force to transmit a touch into a letter onto the paper in front of him.

"Seven _renminbi_ is your total," Jonghyun says.

The man reaches into his pocket and hands Jonghyun three bills, the exact amount needed.

"Thank you." Jonghyun opens the lockbox beneath the counter with a key from his pocket, placing all three bills in their proper place. When he straightens back up, he slides the book to the man. "Thank you for your purchase," he says, smiling.

"What is your name?" The man asks suddenly.

"Oh," Jonghyun murmurs, He looks at his left breast, where his name tag is pinned, but it is covered by his jacket. "Jin Shao'an," he says, pulling aside the cloth to reveal the tag underneath.

And when he looks up at the man, he opens his mouth and speaks before he's had any time to process thought.

"What is yours?"

He can feel a pounding in his chest rising, and he swallows. There's still that small seed of hope in his heart, that maybe- _maybe_ -and then Jonghyun shoots himself down again. Absolutely no chance, he tells himself. _Absolutely none_. But it isn't an odd request, to know another's name when they've just asked for yours. So he smiles his most natural smile, and tries his best to calmly prepare himself for an answer he's not looking for.

"Don't you remember, _Shao'an_?" the man says. He says Jonghyun's name with some sort of awkward, confused tone, like it's a word with a meaning and a pronunciation he will never properly grasp.

"What?" Jonghyun asks. That's certainly not a response in the spectrum he was anticipating.

And then the man reaches up his left hand. He unhooks his mask from one ear.

Jonghyun swears time slows down right then. He's watching everything in slow motion, reduced to a tenth of real time.

The man takes off his mask completely.

A very gentle smile appears on his face.

A smile that Jonghyun knows very well. It illuminates all the features on the man's face, and suddenly Jonghyun sees everything in a completely different light. They are all the features he's known for almost his whole life, all the features he's grown to appreciate and love, all of the features he hasn't seen in what feels like an eternity, unable to be recognized at first but once he's seen the whole photo, it's like he's reached an epiphany.

"My name is Hwang-" the man begins, but Jonghyun interrupts him.

" _Minhyun,_ " Jonghyun breathes out. He clasps both his hands over his mouth, his eyes wider than saucers. He coughs, choking into his palms as his blood rushes through his ears and his vision becomes unbearably blurry.

Jonghyun begins backing up hurriedly. _I must be dying_ , he thinks. _Or I must already be dead._ He's panicked, his hands reaching out and wildly grasping for anything to reassure him that he's alive and this isn't a dream. But there's nothing but air around him.

Something hard hits the back of his knees, and he falls. There's a loud _clang_ followed by a _crash_ as the last things Jonghyun feels is the numbing sensation of losing his balance and a sharp shot of pain piercing through his temple.

* * *

He wakes up to someone staring intently at his face.

" _Ge,_ " he whispers, opening his eyes slowly and painstakingly.

"Ah, Shao'an, are you alright?" Yixuan asks, a look of relief passing over his face.

Jonghyun tries to sit up, but a wave of nausea hits his stomach like a tsunami against a brick wall. He groans, flopping back down onto the couch.

"Woah, woah, don't move so much just yet," Yixuan chides. "You hit your head on a table. You need to rest."

Jonghyun squints. "I'm not… dead?" he murmurs.

"Why in the world would you think that?" Yixuan asks.

"I…" Jonghyun begins, but he shuts his mouth. His _ge_ doesn't know a single thing about Jonghyun's past, and it's better if it stays that way. Maybe Jonghyun had been hallucinating, dreaming, or even sleepwalking, because at the moment Yixuan looks very real and his hand on Jonghyun's shoulder feels very real.

Yixuan sighs.

"Is he okay?" a voice asks.

Yixuan looks behind him. "Yeah," he replies, quietly. "Thank you for your help."

Jonghyun slowly turns his head. His eyes widen, and his mouth automatically opens to say something.

Minhyun, leaning against the doorway, places an index finger over his lips, and Jonghyun closes his mouth.

"Xiu _xiansheng_ bought medicine for the pain and nausea from the store down the street. I have already boiled the water and the medication is soaking at the moment, so you will be able to drink it in a few minutes," Yixuan says. "You are lucky, Shan'ao. If you hit your head in a different spot you could've ended up dead."

Jonghyun nods slowly. "I know," he mutters. "Thank you, _ge._ " And he looks up at Minhyun. "Thank you for the medicine… _Xiu xiansheng_." He furrows his eyebrows slightly at Minhyun. _Is that the name he gave Yixuan?_

Minhyun closes his eyes for a moment, and nods. "You're welcome," he says.

The bell at the door of the shop jingles, and Yixuan stands up, turning around and approaching the doorway. "Just a moment," he says, and Jonghyun nods.

When Yixuan is out of sight, Jonghyun sighs. "I don't believe him. I'm dead, aren't I," he croaks, closing his eyes.

He opens them at the sound of Minhyun's footsteps approaching him. Minhyun kneels down, until he is at eye level with Jonghyun.

"No," Minhyun says. "No, you are not."

Jonghyun smiles bitterly. "I have to be," he reasons, "because if I'm not dead, then how are you here?"

"You and I are both alive," Minhyun says. He reaches out, grasping the back of Jonghyun's hand.

 _His touch feels so real_ , Jonghyun thinks. It's a touch he hasn't felt in so long, one that he hasn't realized he's missed so much. It instantly unlocks all of the memories he's hidden in himself, and in the split second of a movie reel he revisits everything he's missed so dearly from the past few years. He turns his face away, because he can feel that ball of emotion rising up in his throat, and it'd be odd if he were to be crying in a dream.

His hand is guided to rest on something soft and warm, but firm at the same time.

"Focus," he hears Minhyun say. "Can you feel it?"

 _Feel what_? Jonghyun thinks.

And then he realizes. If he presses his hand ever-so-gently against the surface, he can feel a slight rhythmic beating beneath his palm and fingers. It drums steadily, one-two one-two, and Jonghyun slowly turns his head back around.

He sees his hand placed over Minhyun's left chest. Over his heart.

Minhyun smiles when their gazes meet. "I'm alive," he whispers, "and so are you."

The ball of emotion at Jonghyun's throat splits. There's hot tears gathering at the sides of his vision, stinging his eyes like a thousand needles poking into his skin. When he tries to blink them away, several escape his attempts, spilling down his cheeks, creating shiny trails in their wake. His lips waver, contorting into something between a smile and a grimace.

"You're alive," Jonghyun whispers.

"Yes, _Jonghyun_ , yes I am," Minhyun replies.

 _Jonghyun_. Jonghyun hasn't heard anyone besides himself utter that name in so long. He's hit with a wave of nostalgia, stronger than ever, at the sound of his _real_ name on Minhyun's tongue.

Jonghyun closes his eyes, and lets all of his suppressed emotion from the last few years come spilling out of him all at once in the form of bright, wet tears.

* * *

"How are you… here? Nobody wants to come to here. You think of a working Chinese city, you don't think of here," Jonghyun says. He brings a hand to wipe away the saliva at the corners of his mouth, because it's been so long since he's spoken his native tongue. The syllables feel both odd and comfortable at the same time coming out of his mouth, but he has slight trouble forming words whose sounds do not translate well between Mandarin.

"Believe it or not, I made some friends that were a part of this place's old political regime, back before Mongolia became part of the Chinese empire," Minhyun replies. He holds Jonghyun's arm, steadying him as he helps him hobble towards the store entrance. "I simply said, 'There is this guy I want to find, can anybody point me in the right direction?'"

"Oh," Jonghyun murmurs. He hears Yixuan shout "Goodbye! And feel better!" somewhere behind him, and he yells back. "Thank you, Yixuan- _ge_! Have a nice night!"

"I figured you would've come back to Asia, because you don't know any Western languages well," Minhyun murmurs. "But Ulaanbaatar of all places… I wasn't expecting that." He holds the door open.

Jonghyun laughs for a moment, murmuring his thanks. "Nobody wants to come here unless they have to. So they will take in anyone, even if you have no background." His voice has lowered, his eyes flitting around to make sure no one is within earshot of him and Minhyun.

"Do you like it here?" Minhyun asks, quietly.

"It's okay," Jonghyun replies. "They are nice to me. No one asks too many questions. I can live without a lot of worry about food or shelter."

Minhyun hums. "I'll walk you home," he says, when he sees Jonghyun looking up at him oddly because they're just standing there in front of the store.

"You don't-" Jonghyun begins.

"I want to," Minhyun interrupts.

"Okay," Jonghyun replies. A few minutes into his walk, he murmurs, "I thought you were dead, Minhyun. I really did."

Minhyun laughs at his statement. "I realized, Jonghyun, when you thought you yourself were dead as well."

"Three, almost four years, Minhyun."

"I know."

"Why did you keep me waiting so long?"

"I…" Minhyun stops walking for a moment, staring straight ahead of him. "There was something I needed to do," he says, simply, before continuing down the sidewalk.

Jonghyun looks down at the pavement. That's the same reason Minhyun gave him in his letter he had written Jonghyun almost four years ago. If it's something his friend needed to keep silent about, Jonghyun would respect that, but that doesn't mean that he's lost the curious itch to know.

The sky is gray, only tinted slightly yellow from the sun's path as it travels from east to west. It's been gray for so long, Jonghyun thinks. This is the first time he's noticed it's very gray, even despite the sunset which is supposedly so vivid. Ulaanbaatar was and still is an industrial city, having pumped up its manufacturing rates tenfold ever since occupation by the Chinese, as it is the main supplier of factory goods for the northern part of the empire. Jonghyun has gotten so used to it, living in the area for years, that everything being gray was something he had begun to think was normal.

He watches the sky change color, from a yellow-tinted gray to an orange-tinted gray to a gray with hardly any yellow or orange tint as he and Minhyun continue to walk towards Jonghyun's apartment. Jonghyun keeps silent the whole time - there's so, so many things he wants to ask Minhyun and wants to tell him, but he's going to overwhelm himself easily as his heart is still tender and his brain is still in a mild state of shock. These things can always be discussed later, he tells himself. Minhyun had assured him he will not disappear again, at least for the time being.

Jonghyun stops in front of the sooty gray of his apartment building.

"Thank you," he says.

Minhyun smiles at him, but he doesn't move from his spot next to Jonghyun.

"Do you…" Jonghyun begins, his tone uncertain, because he's in the dark about lots of details at the moment, "have a place to stay?"

"No," Minhyun replies.

Jonghyun chuckles for a moment. Minhyun never asks for favors. He could sense his friend's question, simply because he's known Minhyun for so long. It's all coming back to him. It's all falling in place, naturally, like it should be. "Stay with me," he says, and Minhyun nods. It's not a suggestion, it's a statement.

There's only three rooms to Jonghyun's apartment, if you could even call it an apartment. A kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom. Hardly enough space to fit the necessities, and Jonghyun's feet will always hit the wall whenever he lays on his mattress, so he's learned to sleep with his knees bent or halfway on the floor.

"I'm sorry it's so small," Jonghyun murmurs, as he enters into his entryway with Minhyun right behind him, "but it is the only thing I can afford at the moment."

"It's enough," Minhyun says, shrugging his shoulders.

Jonghyun slips off his shoes. He walks down the hall, expecting Minhyun to follow him, but when there's no footsteps behind him he turns around curiously.

Minhyun is leaning down, pulling at his shoelaces with his left hand. It's taking him some time, as the bow on one of his laces hadn't come apart without forming a knot beforehand.

Jonghyun stares. He's not sure what to do besides wait patiently. For some reason Minhyun isn't using both of his hands, only choosing to pull at the knot with his left. Jonghyun wants to ask, but when he opens his mouth to speak Minhyun has unraveled the knot and is slipping off his shoes already.

"Sorry," he apologizes, and Jonghyun shrugs.

"Kitchen," Jonghyun points in front of him. "Bedroom is the door on the left down the hall. Bathroom on the right. Let me take your coat and gloves."

Minhyun takes a step back. "No, it's alright," he says.

Jonghyun is startled for a second at Minhyun's abrupt response. "Oh," he murmurs. For a second, it looked like an expression of panic flit over Minhyun's face, but Jonghyun could've just imagined it.

Jonghyun steps into his bedroom, climbing over his mattress in order to pull at the sliding door to his closet. Rummaging for a few moments, he retrieves a pillow and a thin blanket. He hands them to Minhyun. "Sleep wherever," he says. "I'll go cook now. Make yourself at home."

 _Because I hope this will become your home_ , Jonghyun thinks as he passes Minhyun out the doorway.

* * *

Minhyun is still wearing his coat and gloves when Jonghyun sits down next to him on his mattress, handing him a bowl of rice and whatever vegetable he happened to have in his refrigerator that night.

Sitting right next to Minhyun, he can study the material of his coat closely.

It's a thick wool, the threads tightly woven together, dyed a very rich green. There seems to be no pulling, no loose threads, no lint balls. Either meticulously cared for or an expensive grade of cloth or both. It is the same with Minhyun's pants and gloves.

"How is your clothing so nice?" Jonghyun asks.

Minhyun replies after shoving another mouthful of food into his mouth, chewing it thoroughly, and swallowing. "I found a way to get a decent amount of money," he says, simply. He sets down his bowl on the floor and reaches in his pocket, taking out his wallet before extracting a wad of bills and setting it in Jonghyun's lap.

"How in the world-" Jonghyun begins, "-did you get all of that?"

Minhyun shrugs. "It's for you," he says, "as a thank you, and an apology for all the trouble I've caused." He stands up, taking the money and tucking it into the pocket of Jonghyun's coat, which hangs on a hook on the bedroom door.

Jonghyun wants to protest, but the pointed look Minhyun gives him tells him he's not open to discussion. "And yet you don't have a place to live?" Jonghyun asks.

"Hotels," Minhyun replies.

"Ah," Jonghyun murmurs. He's a little bit frustrated now, because Minhyun refuses to delve into any sort of detail about the past. Jonghyun is left in the same kind of darkness he was when Minhyun first disappeared on him - with nothing but a letter with a vague explanation and a wound in his heart. Is it simply because they've been separated for so long, that Minhyun doesn't feel like he can currently provide the information easily to Jonghyun? Or is it something terrible and unexpected that would cause Jonghyun to judge and shun him?

But Jonghyun cannot think of anything that would be to that extent of bad. He and Minhyun both have a history of unsavory dealings.

Once upon a time, they were both murderers. Murderers with different purposes, but murderers nonetheless. In addition, Jonghyun even did the worst of it - money laundering, organized crime, obstruction of justice, bribery, illegal drug trade. The list goes on. There is nothing in the world worse than what he's seen or personally done.

So he doesn't know why Minhyun is so quiet about his actions.

Minhyun will tell him one day, Jonghyun knows. But that day is not today.

* * *

"Jonghyun, turn off the lights. Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Please, just do it. There is something I need to… show you."

Minhyun looks genuinely worried. He kneels on Jonghyun's mattress, his hands splayed flat against his thighs. His voice is uncertain, cautious almost, and Jonghyun is concerned.

"Okay." Jonghyun stands up, pulling the chain on the single lamp that hangs in the room, and engulfs everything in darkness. He sits back down, and closes his eyes.

"My eyes are closed," he says.

"Keep them that way," Minhyun murmurs.

Jonghyun sits, stock-still. And for the first few moments of darkness, he only hears his own breathing in the room. But after a few seconds, there is a rustling noise. The noise of cloth moving and being tossed aside. First, something heavy - he can hear it land on the floor. But then the noise becomes very quiet, almost unnoticeable.

There is a dip in the mattress as Minhyun crawls forward and seats himself directly in front of Jonghyun.

Jonghyun feels a pair of fingers wrap around his wrist. "Keep your eyes closed," Minhyun says, and Jonghyun nods, even though he's not sure Minhyun can see his movements in the darkness.

Minhyun's fingers are warm against his wrist, holding his hand up steadily. Jonghyun feels his palm being placed on top of heated skin, which he assumes is Minhyun's flesh. He feels a lump jutting out of Minhyun's body, and he runs his thumb along the surface.

"That is my collarbone," Minhyun says.

His hand still on Jonghyun's wrist, he guides Jonghyun's hand over a curve. "This is the top of my shoulder, next to my neck. Move your hand along the rest of my shoulder and arm."

And that's exactly what Jonghyun does. He runs his fingers gently along Minhyun's skin, making zigzags along Minhyun's shoulder. But as he moves his hand down, he feels something entirely different - the skin suddenly becomes rough and coarse, almost withered. The texture is uneven, mildly lumpy, but not to an extent where it was easily noticeable upon first touch. Jonghyun swears he hears Minhyun let out a small gasp when his fingers run over the area.

But the irregular course of skin doesn't remain underneath Jonghyun's fingertips for long as he moves his hand down further.

Rather, Minhyun's skin becomes far from irregular. It's unnatural, artificial, the way his skin just becomes suddenly extremely smooth and even. It's colder than the rest of Minhyun's body, and firmer as well - _firmer is not the right word_ , Jonghyun thinks. More like _hard_. He presses his thumb onto Minhyun's skin, and he does not feel his finger dip into flesh like it should. In fact, he feels like he's pressing against something that's entirely not… flesh. Not human-like at all.

Jonghyun moves his hand down even further. It's all the same texture, all the same feeling, all the same temperature, he realizes.

"Stop," Minhyun says. "You can open your eyes now."

And Jonghyun slowly does. The first thing he sees is Minhyun staring right at him, his pupils gleaming in the almost dim light, only illuminated by the moon shining high in the sky outside the glass panes of the only window in the room. And then he sees Minhyun's bare neck and chest, his skin starkly pale.

His eyes move to Minhyun's left shoulder, and Jonghyun has to bite his tongue and put a hand over his mouth.

Minhyun's flesh has suddenly darkened right where his shoulder ends and meets his arm. Jonghyun can slightly see the texture of the skin, uneven and splotchy, as it's not completely hidden by the lack of light.

But what shocks him the most is not the skin at the junction of Minhyun's shoulder and arm. Rather, it's Minhyun's arm itself.

Jonghyun almost can't even see it. From where he sits, it looks black. Eerily black with no roundness or curve of flesh one would expect to it, instead it appears to be a smooth, uniform cylinder with a joint as Minhyun's arm is bent. And oddly enough, Jonghyun swears he sees it shining. It is almost as if it were an attachment to an entire other creature.

"What…" Jonghyun begins, his voice muffled by his hand.

"You can turn back on the light, Jonghyun," Minhyun says. His voice is monotonous, almost angry, as if he were trying his hardest to keep some emotion hidden inside him.

Jonghyun stands up briefly, reaching above him to pull on the lamp chain.

The first thing he sees when his eyes adjust to the light is the top of Minhyun's head. The second thing he sees, when he sits back down, is Minhyun staring straight ahead. The third thing he sees, the object of his shock, is Minhyun's arm.

"No," Jonghyun blurts out.

Minhyun smiles sorrowfully. "This is why I can't exactly use my right arm," he says.

It's because Minhyun doesn't really _have_ an arm. Or rather, he does, but it's not his own. It's not even a human arm, it's… _wood_ , Jonghyun realizes. A dark brown oak color, covered in a layer of shiny varnish and attached to a ball joint where Minhyun's elbow should've been. It's the same with his hand, all wood, fingers and knuckles emulated by ball joints. They're all affixed to each other with tiny screws, every one of them now a dark gray instead of a shiny silver with whatever hardship they and their owner had been through.

And the end of Minhyun's shoulder - although he still has real skin there, it's all scarred and withered to a red color, as if he were severely sunburnt and it never recovered. Jonghyun can clearly see the texture of the tissue now, and he leans over, running his index finger over the area, now matching the feeling to the image.

"Can you… move?" Jonghyun whispers, sitting back. His eyes are still wide, and his pulse is faster than usual, nervous as he's not sure what to do or say at the moment.

"Sort of." Minhyun flips over his wooden palm. He furrows his brows, as he stares at his hand. The fingers there twitch slightly, but they are unable to make any defined movements after a few more seconds of small, erratic motions.

"How did this happen?" Jonghyun asks.

"War." Minhyun grits his teeth. "The war made everything different."

And then he squeezes his eyes shut tightly, turning his face away from Jonghyun's view. "Everything's so different," he mutters. "I'm different, you're different, this place is different-"

His voice chokes for a second. "It's ugly, isn't it, Jonghyun?" he whispers.

Jonghyun's chest clenches. Minhyun is… crying, he realizes. The last time Minhyun cried was the time he was supposed to shoot a bullet straight through Jonghyun's heart. The last time he saw him before he disappeared.

"No, it's not," Jonghyun whispers. He leans forward, enveloping Minhyun in a hug, his palm coming to rest on Minhyun's cheek, wiping away the tracks of tears that had already fallen.

"Don't lie to me," Minhyun growls. "Just because of this one damn thing, everything is now ugly. Jonghyun, I can't-" Minhyun chokes again, "I can't hold my gun like I used to. I can't aim like I used to. You know, my shooting skills were the one thing which I was most proud of. And now, it's all gone, because of one damn ugly arm."

"Minhyun, y-" Jonghyun begins.

Minhyun takes a deep breath, his voice trembling. "And I still can't even write properly, eat properly, tie my shoelaces properly, or do anything properly. They all look at me and think I'm stupid - because that's what we're supposed to be, what we _cripples_ are supposed to be - stupid."

It pierces Jonghyun's heart, to see Minhyun shed tears, let alone speak in such a way, with such words and tone that divulged nothing but self-loathing, hatred, and despair. All emotions which the Minhyun Jonghyun knew from so long ago would never fall prey to, would never surrender to even if it meant it killed him.

But this Minhyun, he is both the same and new Minhyun to Jonghyun. Jonghyun saw it the first time he set his eyes on Minhyun in the bookshop earlier that day.

He was a man that had gone through some adversary in the world, but he had managed to survive it.

"You are to never say that again, Minhyun," Jonghyun says. "Minhyun, you're not a cripple, you're not stupid, you are none of the things you say you are. Minhyun, you are the smartest man I have ever known, the most cunning, the most confident, the most skilled, even without your gun. None of that will ever change, whether or not you are missing a limb. You are still alive, living, breathing. You have survived. Just like me. We are two different people than we were before, but at our core we're still the same."

Jonghyun places both of his hands on Minhyun's jaw, turning the other's head so they look at each other eye-to-eye.

"I did not fall in love with a man who hates himself."

Minhyun tilts his head down and closes both his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks. "Do you still love me?" he asks.

"I never stopped," Jonghyun replies.

And then Jonghyun leans forward. He kisses Minhyun, softly, gently, even though the fire in his heart had never died down. It is because he can taste the salty tracks of Minhyun's tears on his lips, feel the trembling of Minhyun's skin beneath his own, and all he can do is try to pour all the strength in his body into the soul of the person he knows who needs it the most with one single action.

They pull apart after a few seconds. Jonghyun stares at Minhyun, their foreheads pressed together.

"And I never will stop," Jonghyun whispers.

* * *

Jonghyun wakes up early the next morning.

"It isn't even six," Minhyun mutters, squinting up at Jonghyun with a hand partially covering his eyes.

Jonghyun folds down the collar of his button-up. "I have a second job," he says. "I'm sorry for waking you up, Minhyun."

"What do you do?" Minhyun asks.

"Believe it or not, I teach kids," Jonghyun replies.

Minhyun rolls over and laughs. "Teach them what? How to pickpocket?" he says, between breaths.

"Nah," Jonghyun smiles, "Mandarin, actually. They have their quarterly language examination coming up, and I'm not allowed to have any kids fail. So that's the pile of papers on my desk, most of them are practice essays I've been giving them."

"Ah," Minhyun murmurs. "How'd you even end up a teacher? You're not exactly…" he trails off.

Jonghyun glances over. "Qualified?" he asks, and Minhyun nods slowly.

"The school wants people who know the language… to at least some degree. Everyone living here is a factory peasant. They're people who don't have any knowledge of Mandarin that is worth anything, and those that do have already escaped to some other better part of the empire. I don't even think most of the staff at the school can speak as well I can. But it's the language we're required to know… the only language we're allowed to know," Jonghyun explains. "The kids… they don't know what's going on. They don't understand what's happened, why all of a sudden they're not allowed to speak their native tongues, only some language they've vaguely retained through basic lessons in school."

"Why do you care?" Minhyun asks abruptly.

Jonghyun finishes buttoning his cuffs before he slowly looks at Minhyun, and sighs.

"They're not adults like us, Minhyun. They're not intuitive enough nor experienced enough to understand what the world was like when they were just fetuses in a womb or even an idea in their parents' heads," Jonghyun replies. "And besides-" he turns back around to look at himself in the mirror, smoothing down the dull blue of his shirt, "I have a new life now. I am a new person. And that person has to care."

"Fair enough," Minhyun hums.

Jonghyun smiles. "I'll be leaving now. I'll be home for lunch, and then it's back to the bookstore. You're free to do whatever you want. Just don't do anything…" he pauses, unsure of the exact word or phrase to use. _Dangerous? Incriminating?_

"I can handle myself, Jonghyun," Minhyun says.

Jonghyun takes a deep breath. "I know that, but that doesn't mean that I'm not worried," he murmurs. He wants to ask, _How long have you been like that, living in the state you are?_ But for some reason, he feels like he's being insensitive - crude, maybe, if he were to ask that question.

"I'll be okay," Minhyun replies. He lifts his head a bit, looking directly at Jonghyun. "You should go now. Don't be late."

Jonghyun nods. "I'll see you later, then, Minhyun," he says, grabbing his messenger bag off of the floor next to his mattress and heading towards the doorway of his bedroom.

He stops, right at the door, and glances once behind him.

Minhyun has the back of his left hand thrown over his eyes, his hair disheveled and matted with what Jonghyun can only guess is dried sweat. His body is rolled slightly to the side in such a way that part of his legs dangle off of the mattress and onto the floor.

Jonghyun looks at Minhyun's face, his arms, his legs. And then his bare chest.

He stares, for a moment, and when he sees the very subtle rise and fall of Minhyun's diaphragm he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

* * *

"Do you plan to stay here?"

Minhyun looks up from the sink, where he's currently filling a pot with water.

"I mean, for longer than just a week, or a few weeks, or whatever time," Jonghyun clarifies. He steps a little bit closer, until he's just a meter or two away from Minhyun. He wants to be closer, to latch his fingers onto Minhyun's wrist and whisper in his ear, " _Please_ ". It has only been two days Minhyun has stayed with him, but those two days were long enough for him to fall back into his old pattern of thinking, one that he had so many years ago, when he was able to push the fact that he and Minhyun were two very different people with two very different purposes to the back of his mind - before Jonghyun had inadvertently provided some of the gasoline that lit the world on fire. He was greedy, back then. Greedy enough to think he could live the lifestyle he lived, make the decisions he did in order to keep operating the black, bloodied heart of his little underground business, and still have Minhyun all to himself with no repercussions.

But Jonghyun is no longer that kind of greedy. He is, however, tempted, yet the self-control he's built himself over the years keeps his feet placed where they currently are.

Minhyun looks downwards at his hand, his left resting on the counter while his right dangles limply at his side. His lips twitch slightly, but there's no words coming out of them. As if he were speaking to himself.

"Yes, I do," he says, quietly, after a few moments.

Jonghyun's heart clenches in his chest. In only two strides, he makes it to where Minhyun's standing, and wraps his arms tightly around the latter's torso.

"Minhyun," he whispers, his lips trembling into the largest grin he's had on his face in such a long time, "Minhyun, thank you so much."

"Why?" Minhyun asks. He's got a smile on his face too, the realest smile Jonghyun has ever seen him wear in his life; but when he looks down at Jonghyun, the corners of his lips and eyes fall slightly, the skin there softening. "You're teary, Jonghyun," he notes, before rubbing his thumb at the corner of one of Jonghyun's eyes. "Stop crying. If anything, I should be, because at this point I've basically just said I'm going to mooch off of you."

Jonghyun presses his face into Minhyun's shoulder. He teeters a bit, because he all of a sudden feels light-headed, like he's not standing on the tile floor of his kitchen, but rather on top of a cloud. "It doesn't matter," he croaks, "I don't care. A long time ago, I had a lot of things, and I thought could keep them all at the same time too. You were one of those things, Minhyun, but after… after everything got taken away and it was just me, all alone by myself for three years, I realized that I should've just thrown everything else away and kept you, because you were the one possession that mattered the most. I could've prevented everything, could've prevented the amount of stress I put on myself by having to run all over the world, could've prevented the struggles you dealt with because you had to not only follow me, but _kill_ me, and also… I thought I could've prevented your _death_."

Jonghyun lifts his head. His eyes are now hot, stinging, his throat suddenly dry and choked up, but he still manages to rasp out his next words.

"And now, I've been gifted back the only thing that mattered in the first place. Even though I was so stupid to realize it before I lost everything."

He swallows the lump forming in his throat.

"You and I, Minhyun. Just the two of us, it's all I ever truly wanted. You don't know how grateful I am."

And then Minhyun turns his face and _laughs_ for a few seconds, while Jonghyun stares at him quizzically. It's almost comical, the way Minhyun's voice sounds - unreal and loud. But maybe that's because Jonghyun has not heard him laugh for an eternity.

"Jonghyun," Minhyun begins, his voice breathy. "Our old lives are gone," he says. "They're gone, except for one thing."

"What?" Jonghyun asks.

"The fact that you never lost me in the first place," Minhyun replies, almost a matter-of-factly. "You just thought you did, and I'm really sorry for fooling you like that."

"If you say so," Jonghyun murmurs. "You're too cunning for your own good," he says, his voice muffled as he presses his face against Minhyun's shoulder.

 _At least now,_ Jonghyun thinks, _I am no longer lonely._

* * *

" _Ge_ ," Jonghyun says.

"Hm?" Yixuan hums, as he flips through the pages of a magazine.

"Do you suppose Zhang _jingli_ has enough money to hire another person?"

Yixuan breaks out in laughter. "What kind of a question is that? You already know the answer," he replies.

"Chengyu," Jonghyun replies. "He needs to find work." It still feels odd on his tongue, speaking the name Minhyun decided to adorn himself. Jonghyun had asked him why he chose something so far off, why he couldn't just stick with a wobbly translation of his real name. But Minhyun shrugged, and told him, "It's still precarious."

"Why not one of the factories?" Yixuan suggests. "It's not the best pay, or the best conditions, or the best anything, really," he says. "But they always have openings." _Because people are constantly being worked to death like horses_ , Jonghyun silently adds.

"That's not a good idea," Jonghyun says. Not only does he not want to subject Minhyun to that, but it also hurts him to admit it - admit that the factories only look for people who are both healthy and capable. _Physically_ healthy and capable. The less you matched both of those descriptions, the more riskier and the more unpleasant your work would be, especially if your peers knew. Both inside the job and outside in the world.

"Why?" Yixuan asks. And then when he looks up and sees the uncomfortable expression on Jonghyun's face, he quickly mutters, "Oh. Sorry."

Jonghyun shrugs. Yixuan doesn't know, and he doesn't need to know.

"He speaks the language alright, yeah?" Yixuan asks, and Jonghyun nods. "Then ask your headmaster if he can teach in the afternoons."

"Oh," Jonghyun murmurs. That's not a bad idea. Minhyun does speak with an accent, but his strength in language has never been his speaking, rather his grasp on structure, grammar, and the small nuances in reading and writing. Things that are required to make one's speech look and sound fluent. "That's a pretty good idea," he says. "Thank you, _ge_."

Yixuan's lips curl up into a smile. "Of course. Now, get to the shelves, Shao'an. The books won't reorganize themselves."

Jonghyun nods quickly, remembering that his responsibilities for the day were still unfinished.

* * *

Headmaster Geng is intrigued, to say the least. There are not a lot of people with the required skill, let alone the desire, to become a teacher, especially with what measly pay the government had set aside for such a taxing job. He wants to see this _Xiu Chengyu_ , he tells Jonghyun. See if he is "fit" for the job, but Jonghyun knows it's just a formality Geng wants to go through - as long as Minhyun can speak and understand the language thoroughly, he will be at least considered.

Minhyun follows Jonghyun as they walk down the hall to Geng's office after Jonghyun's morning lessons. He swivels his head back and forth, eyes panning across their surroundings. The colors there, everything is pasty and dull. From the off-white wash cement of the walls to the stone gray of the kids' uniforms to the sallow, sunken faces of the kids themselves. Even though their outward appearance may not reflect the image of a healthy ideal, they still act with the vitality and innocence typical of children - children who are still ignorant to the details and fine lines of the world around them.

They pass by several students on their way. Jonghyun seems to be relatively well-liked by them, Minhyun notes. When they see him, they stop in their tracks, smile, and bow to him with a shrill, "Hello, Jin _laoshi_!" Even the other staff, too. They do not stop for Jonghyun, but they will acknowledge him and wave.

Minhyun smiles. "You're quite-" he begins.

" _Not here_ ," Jonghyun whispers, in Mandarin, just as another staff member passes by them.

"They don't know?" Minhyun replies, having switched languages and lowered his voice as well.

"No, they think I am a refugee from the south," Jonghyun whispers, "There are still border disputes in that area, so if Geng asks, you are one as well."

Minhyun nods.

"Geng is not a spiteful man, nor a lazy one. He may seem uninterested, but he is very observant and insightful. When you meet him, speak clearly, do not let your accent affect your speech too much. Make eye contact, but do not smile at him. Pay attention, but do not hang on his every word. Choose what you say carefully. Although it's not a likely chance he'll dislike you, it will benefit you in this establishment if he favors you. Whomever he favors, the staff and students will favor as well," Jonghyun lists. His voice falls even quieter with the next words that come out of mouth. "I know you know this already, but… make sure he doesn't notice anything about your arm. I have no clue how open-minded he is, but he doesn't take pity on others easily." He stops in his tracks, in front of a rusted wooden door. "We are here."

Jonghyun turns, the back of his hand raised above the door as he is about to knock, and looks at Minhyun. "Okay?"

"Okay," Minhyun replies. He clears his throat once, and purses his lips as Jonghyun raps his hand against the door.

* * *

"Work with Jin for now, it will be a good experience to get you situated into the environment," Geng had told Minhyun, "at least until the current semester ends and I am able to get funds transferred from the government board. You will not receive the salary listed on the title for the time being, but I will work out what I can. As long as you perform your job properly, and there are no complaints, you can expect to move into a more permanent position later this year or the beginning of next year. Do you understand?"

And so Minhyun had agreed.

The kids, when first they saw him, they looked at him with interest in their eyes. A raw kind of curiosity. He's probably the first change in their regular routine any of them have had in their lives for a very long time.

"This is Xiu Chengyu," Jonghyun said, "he is to help me teach for the remainder of the school year. If anyone has any questions, you are free to ask."

A girl instantly raised her hand, and she stands up when Jonghyun acknowledged her request.

The first question Minhyun had received was, "Xiu _laoshi_ , how are you so tall?"

The kids clamored over him. They don't even care that he's supposed to be another instructor. To them, he is something akin to a present, because most of them had never received presents in their lives. They hurriedly unwrapped the idea of him, their grubby fingers shaking with excitement, and then they marveled at him, played with him, until his novelty had worn off for the hour.

"Was everything okay?" Jonghyun asks him, a few hours later, as he's packing his things back into his bag, getting ready to leave for the day.

"I don't like children," Minhyun begins, "but it was okay. They are quite different, aren't they, J- Shao'an?"

"How?" Jonghyun replies.

"They don't care," Minhyun says, as he watches the back of the last student leave the room. "They don't care about anything except what's going on in the present."

Jonghyun hums in agreement as he tucks the papers on his desk into a folder.

Minhyun sighs. He whispers, "I wish I could do that."

* * *

It is this same innocence, this same kind of ignorant and untainted disregard that aims the gun right at Minhyun's chest.

Jonghyun has done everything he could think of to make Minhyun's disability less noticeable. He's oiled the hinges on his metal cabinets so they no longer need the strength of two arms to pull open. He's relocated his textbooks and workbooks from the top of his shelf to the bottom so Minhyun wouldn't need to reach up high to retrieve a stack. He's even moved his folders and papers from the left side of his desk to the right so Minhyun has an easier time writing.

It's mid October - about a month in, maybe more. Jonghyun has gotten used to the new things about Minhyun: the way he moves to accommodate his arm, the way he speaks to fool others about his roots, the way he dresses in order to disguise his insecurity - and simultaneously Jonghyun has welcomed back, with open arms, the old things about Minhyun: the way he smiles when he welcomes Jonghyun home, the way he thinks, thoroughly and meticulously, the words he chooses, always quiet and truthful. He has gotten so used to everything, in fact, that he's almost forgotten that Minhyun has a disability and has yet to divulge him on its origins.

But alas, Jonghyun is an adult, and children are children. Kids don't graze over details easily.

"Xiu _laoshi,_ why do you always wear your gloves? Even when it was warm."

Minhyun instantly pauses his movements, his hand still up in the air, grasping a piece of chalk as he stops in the middle of scribbling a character on the board.

Jonghyun looks up from his desk, staring at the boy that just asked the question.

"Xiu _laoshi_ is just always cold, that's why," he hurriedly says.

"Is that why he doesn't move a lot too?"

Minhyun slowly turns around. His face is expressionless, but Jonghyun knows how uncomfortable he feels by the stiffness in his body. "Yes, I am always chilly," Minhyun says, "Do you know how to write that word, Donghai? The word _chilly_."

Donghai shakes his head.

Minhyun moves his hand down to another spot on the chalkboard. "This is how you do so. You begin with the radical for 'water', and then the radical for 'man'."

Jonghyun watches Minhyun carefully. The latter's back is turned towards the students, but from where he is sitting, he is able to see the side of Minhyun's face. His friend's hand shakes slightly as he moves the piece of chalk back and forth through all the strokes.

Minhyun pauses right after he finishes writing the character. His head turns just barely towards Jonghyun, their gazes connecting.

The only way Jonghyun can describe his expression is as if a boulder had been suddenly dropped on his chest.

* * *

The air is chilly when they open the door to the roof of the school, stepping out onto the rough gray stone that matched the sky above them. It is mildly windy, but the wind for today is not the biting, frozen kind. It is the kind that cleans away the polluted scents of the air, one that makes Jonghyun's first breath outside that afternoon fresh and light in his lungs.

He chooses a spot next to an outcropping formed from a ventilation pipe in the roof's structure. It is close enough to the edge of the roof that if he were to scoot forward and peer through the barbed wire fencing, he would see the majority of city streets around him, but far enough so that he can fully stretch out his body and not be at risk of being pricked by any wired spikes.

Minhyun sits next to him, slipping off his gloves. They pull out their canteens of water and tins of food. Jonghyun begins to eat silently, staring at the world below him. Even when he was younger, his favorite thing to do when the weather was decent was to come outside, sit somewhere high, and watch the world move beneath his eyes. Only this time he is no longer a player in that fabric of progression, rather now he is simply nothing but a bystander.

Minhyun scoots next to him after finishing his own food.

"You look better," Jonghyun says.

But Minhyun closes his eyes for a moment, and when he reopens them and speaks his voice is serious, almost brooding.

"You don't suppose they… have an idea, right?" he asks.

"I can't say," Jonghyun replies, slowly. "If they knew, then Geng would have known by now as well, and he has not said anything so far."

"This is the first time in a very long time I've had a normal existence, Jonghyun." Minhyun sighs, and he brings his hand up to brush through his hair. "I've only just begun to get used to it. Every day I've woken up, I thought I just awoke into another dream, because I can no longer recall vividly the memories of my childhood, where I did have a normal life. They only return to me in my sleep."

He turns, looking at Jonghyun, and when Jonghyun looks at him back, he feels his stomach drop.

Minhyun's eyes have always been dark in color, but when Jonghyun looks at them now they are dull, the whites of his eyes almost tinted gray. Maybe it's their surroundings, maybe it's the bitterness of the day. He can sense a storm coming, but he's not sure if it's because of the thick clouds up ahead or the thick clouds in Minhyun's expression.

And then Minhyun's lips twist into a contorted hybrid between a grimace and a smile, as if he wants to sourly laugh at himself but at the same time there's that sticky layer of loathing and insecurity beneath his skin that he can not rid himself of, even though he was never a person in which those kind of things could latch onto and feed off of easily.

"I can't lose this, Jonghyun," Minhyun whispers, his head falling down. "I thought I could've been happy in my life for once, living like this. I thought I could just ignore the fact that part of me is useless. I thought I could just make up for it, disguise it by putting in more effort to change the way I do things. So nobody would ask questions, but most importantly, I wouldn't ask myself questions."

He slams the palm of his left hand against the barbed wire in front of him. The fence shakes, a ringing sound echoing in the thin air. And then slowly, his fingers curl around his palm, hooking themselves into the holes in the weaved pattern of the wire.

Minhyun is pressing his hand against the fence with such a force, digging his fingers in until his knuckles and fingertips are a stark white. Although Jonghyun cannot see it, the spikes pierce into his flesh. Small rivulets of red run down his hand and his wrist, before disappear down the arm of his coat. As if his skin were crying blood.

"Maybe I can never be completely happy," Minhyun says. "Because no matter how hard I try to forget, I try to ignore-"

He releases his hand from the fence, placing his palm face-up in his lap. There are visible holes in his skin, red and ripped and frayed, blood shiny, almost bubbling as it comes in contact with the air, skin pulled up in semi-opaque tufts, their edges jagged.

And then he moves his wooden arm as well, placing the palm of his other hand face-up next to its flesh counterpart.

"-a part of me will never be human again."

Minhyun takes his left palm and presses it into his right. He laces their fingers together and grips his wooden hand with so much pressure it seems as if all the blood in his flesh had drained out of the limb.

His hands fall apart a few seconds later, returning to their original positions sitting palm-up in his lap.

There is red smeared all over his wooden hand, staining the dark oak an eerie, inky scarlet with different opacities all over his palm and fingers. Although there is varnish over the wood, some of the blood has settled into the dips and crevices of the ball joints of his fingers, similar to how they would settle into the lines of someone's skin, but different enough in that the splotches and creases are much more coarse and uneven. Much more noticeable from a further distance.

* * *

Jonghyun is wrapping a new ribbon of gauze over Minhyun's hand later that night.

"You can't keep on doing this to yourself, Minhyun," Jonghyun says, as he holds onto Minhyun's wrist and reaches next to him to grab a safety pin.

Minhyun sighs and rolls his head back. "I know. I'm sorry, I'm just not in my right mind," he apologizes.

Jonghyun finishes pinning down the gauze. "All done," he says, and Minhyun quietly murmurs his thanks. A few long seconds pass. Jonghyun can hear his own breath, his ears hypersensitive to every sound around him. It's mostly because he's still a little bit panicked and very much so worried. Minhyun rarely spills out his thoughts, but when he does, Jonghyun never expects it, as he's already fallen back into that cycle of believing everything is back to normal. Things always come back to bite him in his heart and remind him that it will be a long time before both he and Minhyun will lead stable lives.

"Is it still there?" Minhyun asks suddenly, and Jonghyun almost jumps a bit in his spot.

"What?" he replies.

"Your scar," Minhyun replies, quietly. "Did it ever heal?"

"Which one?"

Minhyun takes a deep breath. "You know which one, Jonghyun."

"I don't know," Jonghyun replies, "I haven't looked at it in a long time." He stands up, walking over to the mirror at the side of his room. Staring at his reflection for a moment, he carefully grabs at the bottom of his shirt on the right side of his torso and pulls it up.

And there, right below his pec, where his first rib lies, is a dark brown gash, almost black in color. Ridged, coarse, shriveled. Like the bark of a centuries-old tree that sits in the ashy clearing of a forest that's long been destroyed.

Jonghyun runs his fingers over the area. If he touches the surrounding skin, both his fingertips and his chest register the feeling. If he touches the scar, he cannot feel anything besides the strange texture of the tissue. He has not seen it, felt it, or thought about it for a long time, and he stares at it in the mirror, running his thumb over it in a renewed fascination.

"Oh my god," Minhyun whispers, and Jonghyun swivels his head to look in the other's direction.

Minhyun's eyes are wide, the whites of his eyes showing clearly in the yellow light of the room. Shocked, maybe even regretful.

"I am so sorry," he says, "Jonghyun, I am so sorry."

"Why?" Jonghyun replies. "I'm still alive, and that's because of you. This wound would've killed me otherwise."

"I didn't- I didn't expect it to become…" Minhyun's words trail off.

And then Jonghyun smiles a little bit at his reply, because Minhyun has little to do with the way his body had been marred. "I did this to myself," he begins, "I was so angry at everything, and every time I moved my upper body it'd hurt and remind me of all the things I did wrong. It was like I was continuously stabbing myself over and over again. I still remember it clearly, you know-"

He takes a deep breath. "It was the middle of winter, a month or two after you left. In Glasglow. I was sitting in my hotel room, thinking over all the decisions I'd made for the past several years. Then I stood up, for some reason or the other, and the stitches pulled at my skin again. The first thing I saw after the pain went away was the candle sitting on the nightstand, the only source of light in the room."

"Jonghyun…" Minhyun begins. "Don't tell me that you…"

Jonghyun nods, looking up at the plain walls of his room, a wistful expression appearing on his face. "I don't know what I was thinking," he murmurs, "but I just took off my shirt, grabbed it, and burnt myself. Right over the wound."

Minhyun stands up and walks over. He stops right next to Jonghyun. And with the tip of his index finger on his left hand, he gently runs it over the scar.

"Do you feel anything?" he asks. "Do you feel anything anymore?"

Jonghyun smiles. "No," he replies, simply, "and I haven't for a long time."

* * *

Two days later, it is the middle of the night. Jonghyun is fast asleep. But he wakes up, because he realizes he's lost the warmth of another body next to him.

It's not hard to find where Minhyun is. Jonghyun only has to step outside his bedroom and peer around the corner of the hallway before he sees who he's looking for.

They have one long window in the kitchen, right across from the stove. Minhyun is on his knees, kneeling in front of it, both of his hands placed on the windowsill. He stares outside, his body completely still and unmoving. The moonlight washes out his skin, coloring him an eerie blue-gray. Almost as if he were lifeless.

"Minhyun," Jonghyun says quietly.

Minhyun startles. He turns around quickly, a shocked expression on his face. "Oh," he murmurs.

"Why are you up?" Jonghyun asks.

Minhyun turns back around, continuing to stare outside the window. He's silent for the next several seconds, and when he speaks his voice trembles slightly, his tone uncertain and diffident.

"I always thought you were the more selfish one in the relationship," Minhyun says, "because I was the one that made my life out of doing things to further the greater good. To help my country."

He pauses, and sighs, before continuing. "But I suppose I am not, because my mind is weaker than I thought. Unlike you, Jonghyun, I can get too easily affected by things that shouldn't matter that much. Things that are just part of life. You know, I thought I was a master at not caring, because that's the lifestyle I lived. You can't care and kill at the same time. But I suppose, that's only because I just became so numb to the targets I was given, the number of names on a list. I saw those people as another part of my job, as nothing but objects I must rid of."

"Why are you telling me this, Minhyun?" Jonghyun asks.

"Because I am selfish," Minhyun replies. "Maybe more so than you, Jonghyun. And I suppose, maybe it's about time I told you how I ended up like this, with one less limb and too many things to think about. I can see it in your eyes whenever you look at my arm, Jonghyun."

And when Jonghyun doesn't move from his spot, Minhyun smiles at him, the look on his face almost lonely and very riddled with guilt. "Come and sit," he says.

Jonghyun carefully seats himself next to Minhyun, and the latter turns his head to continue staring outside the window as he begins to speak.

"I don't know if there is a God that exists," he says. "But if there is one, he has gotten his revenge on me. My arm is my punishment."

"What could you have done?" Jonghyun asks. "And why would you think that?"

"I was stupid and desperate, Jonghyun. There was a time, a little over a year ago, that I ran out of money. Ran out of everything I had left over from what the government had given me. I even had to sell my gun and exchange it for another, cheaper one, because bullets for it were getting too expensive to buy. And you know how much I loved that thing."

Jonghyun nods quietly.

"I was in Chiang'mai, sitting on the street and thinking, doing anything to dissociate myself from that feeling of hunger in the pit of my stomach. And I was watching the people across the street. That's when I saw her, Jonghyun. She was looking at all the flowers on a vendor cart, standing there and reading the tags when a man comes up behind her, reaches into her bag, and takes out her wallet and just hurriedly walks away like nothing happened. So you know what I did? I got up, ran over, tapped on her shoulder, and told her, 'Look down the street, because that man over there has your wallet.'" Minhyun pauses for a second and huffs, as if he were scoffing at himself. "She couldn't thank me enough. And you know what, Jonghyun? She thought I was handsome, she fancied me. I didn't care, of course. I didn't care until she told me her father was a Cabinet member. That they had a lot of money."

"So that's how you ended up with all that money," Jonghyun murmurs, and Minhyun nods.

"I don't even think I remember her full name. But they called her _Aim_ , and that is what I called her as well. She was beautiful, Jonghyun, very beautiful. Both her face and her personality. There was nothing vile about her, nothing but purity and innocence and ignorance. It was nice to be with someone who knows nothing for once, after years of knowing everything. It gave me a break from the realities of life, even though I know in actuality everything in her head was empty. And then I made my most stupid decision ever, Jonghyun."

"What?"

"I married her. Because of the money."

"You… what?" Jonghyun feels like a bucket of water has just been dumped over his head. If Minhyun was married, then how in the world did he end up here? All alone? And as Jonghyun takes a breath, there's a slight twinge of green in his chest. He trusts Minhyun, he knows that he would have never come back to him with strings attached. But that small part of his personality that's never died, the small part of him that's greedy and possessive and crude can't help but resurface itself.

Yet, Jonghyun has become a more reasonable, more level-headed person over the years. He acts with more his brain than his heart, even though in the past he might've been the opposite.

"So you think you were given your punishment because you took advantage of her for her money," he says.

"Well, yes," Minhyun begins, "but it's not just that."

He turns his head, and looks at Jonghyun. "Do you remember the siege of Siam?" he asks.

Jonghyun nods, and Minhyun switches back to staring straight ahead of him.

"We were at her family's villa in Siam," Minhyun says, "when the men came, Jonghyun. The gunmen." His voice has dropped to a whisper.

Minhyun closes his eyes. His shoulders begin to tremble, his breaths becoming shallow. He's unable to speak for the next few seconds, and Jonghyun can do nothing but place a hand on his shoulder and rub his arm. When he speaks next, his voice quivers, volume hardly a whisper.

"I k-killed her, Jonghyun. I killed her. Tomorrow would've been her twenty-second birthday if I didn't kill her."

Jonghyun opens his mouth to speak - hasn't Minhyun killed a lot of people in his life? But Minhyun interrupts him.

"We were hiding in the servants' kitchen. She was panicking, asking me what to do, holding onto me for dear life. I knew there were men at the front of the house, they would come inside at any moment. So I went to go check the kitchen's back door. I opened it a little bit, and there was nothing. I only saw the trashcans and the gravel and the grass. So you know what I told her? I told her it was safe. I told her to run, run out the door as fast as she can and away from this place. I told her I'd follow right behind her. And she trusted me."

Minhyun chokes. He blinks rapidly, a single tear having escaped from the corner of his eye. "I didn't know," he whispers, "I didn't know that there were already men there. I didn't see them. The gunshots only confirmed my fears."

Minhyun's next breath is shuddering, his chest heaving. He hangs his head, looking down at his lap. "I don't even know how I'm still alive, Jonghyun," he whispers. "I just panicked, and I ran out the deck door into the garden, where I knew there were already men. It might've been the shrubs and the trees and the bushes, but I only managed to get shot in the arm. I ran all the way to Siam's downtown center, and I just laid there for the next eternity, bleeding my life out. Nobody helped me, nobody batted an eye at me. A day or two later and an old man and his son took pity on me. I had a fever from the infection in my arm, they told me. There's no medication for that, let alone anyone licensed to distribute it. The old man said he couldn't do anything but cut it off to prevent the infection from spreading. He was a surgeon before the war, and he did that. He's also the one that also fitted me the prosthetic."

And then Minhyun lifts his head, a misshapen smile on his face. Similar to someone who had come to accept his death, who had come to give up on struggling with whatever uphill battle he'd been fighting. Similar to the one Jonghyun had on his face when Minhyun pointed the gun at him as he bled out on the bed, Jonghyun realizes.

"This is my punishment, Jonghyun. Something that haunts me for the entirety of the rest of my life."

"Shush," Jonghyun says. He reaches up, wiping away the shiny tracks of tears on Minhyun's cheeks. "This is not your punishment, because you had nothing to be punished for in the first place. You did not kill Aim, Minhyun. You did not know. I would have done the same thing. You are alive now, Minhyun, you have survived. Like you told me before, we are here together, alive and breathing. You may be missing a limb, but that does not matter, because you're still you. You've accomplished your main goal in this world, and that was to find me. Your journey may have been tough, but it is a journey, a past, and that's something everyone has to find a way to leave behind. If we all carry the past with us, then there will be no future. Your present will be forever stuck in the past."

Minhyun ducks his head. "I've told myself that," he says, "but it's difficult to believe. There is always so much guilt in my chest whenever I look at myself in the mirror… I've never looked at myself the same way again."

Jonghyun reaches his hand up, grasping his chest. His ribs, his heart, his head hurts. He's never seen Minhyun riddled with so much regret over something in his life. He's never imagined their roles would be switched, with Minhyun acting like he's coming to terms with his death and Jonghyun the one being torn apart on what to think and what to do.

He's never imagined Minhyun would get involved in something like this. He's never imagined Minhyun would be so distraught, because he's been the cause of death for a lot of people. But he only reacts this way when a person means something to him. When he cannot dehumanize his victim.

"Minhyun, let me ask you this question," Jonghyun says.

"W-What?" Minhyun replies.

"Did you ever love her? Tell me truthfully."

Instantly, he answers, "No. I don't think so."

In that moment, Jonghyun understands. "Then," he begins, "your guilt is not entirely because you were related to her death. Take that knowledge, Minhyun, and use it to free yourself."

Even if Minhyun did not care about her as a person, Aim still mattered - she was his escape. His escape from his worries, from his responsibilities, from himself as a person.

Escape is always temporary. It is akin to a forbidden fruit, something that sends you bliss and enjoyment, allows you to let go of yourself and be lost in the moment. But too much of it, and it becomes a parasite, eating you from the inside out. It mentally and physically weakens you, until you are no more but a shell of your former self.

Even now, Minhyun still has a loose grasp on his escape, the last few bites of his forbidden fruit still in his pocket. But Jonghyun links their hands together, wipes away Minhyun's tears, kisses his cheek, his nose, his forehead, his lips, and whispers words to him, trying to convince him that an escape is no longer necessary. Because their current lives do not warrant the want for an escape, and Jonghyun senses that they never will, as long as he and Minhyun are at each other's sides.

* * *

It is almost spring. Geng has told Minhyun he will be moving into his own classroom after spring break.

The sky is no longer the gray kind of gray. Instead, sometimes it chooses to be a gray with color. A gray with a little bit of vitality. A little bit of change.

Jonghyun asks Minhyun if he's ever been around the city, past the little hubs where they live and work. Minhyun shakes his head, and Jonghyun smiles and says the following weekend he'll take him somewhere.

On Saturday, in the late afternoon, Minhyun follows Jonghyun as he walks south, almost to the edge of the city. When Minhyun sees the monument in the distance in front of them, high up in the sky like a mountain, he asks, "Zaisan Hill? Why here?"

Jonghyun only smiles at him and says, "You'll see."

There is a tank monument at the base of the hill. Its base has long been worn down, chunks gone out of it and the writing almost illegible. The wheels on the vehicle are missing, and someone has carved their name onto the side of the body.

The cement steps up the hill are worn, overgrown with grass and weeds, weathered down to where some of them are no longer steps and instead are just small slopes. There's nothing around them but grass and stone and the monument up ahead. Jonghyun tells him, "Don't look behind you", so Minhyun complies.

It's about another half an hour when they reach the top.

They circle around the main attraction and the main glory of the Hill - the large ring suspended in the air by a few columns. Once upon a time, colorful images of religious figures, political figures, and soldiers were painted in harmony on its interior. But now, the color has faded, the etching of the people and objects are unclear, and the edges of the ring crumbling and cracked. At the front of the monument, a Soviet soldier stands, holding a torch up proudly in his right hand. He is the main support for the ring, as the flame of his torch becomes the largest column the ring is attached to, stretching high up into the sky, higher than any other part of the monument.

Jonghyun and Minhyun stand, side-by-side, in front of the soldier. Part of his face and his chest is missing, and the gun he holds in his left hand has been worn down by the weather to the point where Jonghyun can barely tell the stone was supposed to be shaped into a gun.

"Turn around," Jonghyun says, and Minhyun complies.

"Woah," Minhyun murmurs, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the view in front of him.

They're so high up in elevation that Jonghyun can see the dark gray clouds of smoke billow over the city, veiling the shapes and angles of the buildings so that they look like the distorted images in a water-damaged photograph. There's still real clouds above the smoke - there always will be, Jonghyun knows. But they don't hide the characteristics of the sky as well as the smoke does.

For once, he can see the sun. It is gray, everything above him is gray, but this time is it not a yellow-tinted gray and an orange-tinted gray he sees as it paints its descent over his head; rather, it is now a gray-tinted yellow and a gray-tinted orange that melt together beautifully and seamlessly at the edge of the West. Right around the core of where the colors meet is a smattering of red and pinks. They swirl together, mixing and forming a vague orb of muted fire.

"It's beautiful," Minhyun murmurs, "I've never seen anything like it for a long time."

Jonghyun smiles. "Isn't it?" he replies. "When I first came up here, I thought I was in a dream."

Minhyun laughs softly. "Maybe you are," he says. "Maybe we are."

"Do you know what this monument was for?" Jonghyun asks.

Minhyun shakes his head.

"It honors the Soviet soldiers killed in the second World War," Jonghyun says. "The soldiers of the country that helped win the independence of Mongolia after the fall of the Qing dynasty."

Jonghyun turns around, and looks up at the soldier above him. "He is a symbol of victory," he says, "and the torch he holds is the beginning of a new era."

Minhyun smiles, humming as Jonghyun sighs and turns around. They stare at the cityscape beneath them, and sometimes Minhyun will point out the different shapes the clouds of smoke briefly create before they dissipate into thin wisps of gray.

Jonghyun steps behind Minhyun after a few minutes of silence. He reaches down and grabs Minhyun's right hand - the hand that's not his flesh.

"What are you doing?" Minhyun asks, swiveling his head to look at Jonghyun.

Jonghyun doesn't answer him. Instead, he lifts Minhyun's arm up by the wrist, stretching it up straight above him and holding it there. He presses open the fingers on Minhyun's hand, splaying his palm flat and raised up to the sky.

"You're holding the sun in your hand," Jonghyun says. "Bright red, orange, and yellow, right in your palm."

Minhyun looks at him over his shoulder. "Jonghyun, what are you talking about?" he asks. His gaze flits upwards for a second. "And isn't your arm going to fall asleep soon?"

Jonghyun smiles at him. "Just look in front of you, Minhyun. Look above you. Look behind you. Look at everything that is within your reach, within possibility."

Minhyun still stares at him quizzically, but he does as Jonghyun tells him.

"The war we have been fighting all these years is over, Minhyun. If you ever need help holding up your flame of victory, I will hold it together with you."

* * *

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> one day, i swore i would write something with a happy ending
> 
> and it happened!
> 
> thanks for reading, lovely reader <3 
> 
> and as always, thank you to S for editing! what would i do without her???


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